


keep on waiting

by Gruoch



Series: the great frontier [3]
Category: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: F/F, Gals being pals, Kinda, Peter Parker: notorious human disaster, Strangers to Lovers, Summer in the City, and my whims demand niche rarepairs, college fic, he’s held together by surgical tape and very forgiving women, it’s all about me and my whims now, no love triangles here, only supportive friendships, outsider pov, recreational drug use/underage drinking, this fic has never met canon in its life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-09
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:21:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27476464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gruoch/pseuds/Gruoch
Summary: Gwen will meet MJ on a sticky hot Saturday in front of the Met and she’ll quickly realize two things: that Peter is stupid in love with MJ and too dumb to know it, and that it’s going to break Gwen’s heart.
Relationships: Michelle Jones & Peter Parker & Gwen Stacy, Peter Parker & Gwen Stacy, eventual Michelle Jones/Gwen Stacy
Series: the great frontier [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2007652
Comments: 119
Kudos: 85





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is like, an alternate universe/split timeline sequel to _the tallest man, the broadest shoulders_ that completely ignores the events of _trust me to take you home,_ because I hated fridging Gwen and I want her to be happy--a fix-it fic for my own fic, in other words lol. You can probably get by reading this without reading either of those stories first (unless you want to!).

It’s three days before final exams begin at MIT, which means the whole gang is crammed into Peter’s tiny dorm room, intently perusing Johnny Storm’s Instagram together instead of studying like they’re supposed to be doing—except for Gwen, who has her nose resolutely stuffed into her textbook, save for when she occasionally gets the irresistible urge to introduce a snide comment into the conversation whenever the stupidity gets to be too much for her to silently bear.

“I think he’s shirtless in eighty-five-percent of the pictures he posts,” Ned observes. “It’s just thirst trap after thirst trap. And it’s working—he’s been on Instagram for like six months, and he’s only two million followers shy of Tony Stark’s count. He’s gonna surpass Iron Man, arguably the most famous person on the planet, and we didn’t even know he existed a year ago. Sex sells, my dudes.”

“He’s a gift,” Harry says, awed. “The universe felt bad about all the crazy shit that’s happened to us, and it gave us shirtless Johnny Storm as compensation. He’s a _gift_."

“He’s an idiot,” Peter cuts in. “Have you seen him give interviews? He’s a cocky, self-absorbed idiot.”

“Yeah, but would you fuck him?” Harry asks. “I’d fuck him. Hypothetically speaking, of course,” he adds, when Peter shoots him a dirty look. “This is all just harmless fantasy, Pete, my sweet baby angel. I mean, what are the chances I actually get to hook up with a superhero?”

“Better than you think,” Gwen mutters under her breath. Peter shoots her a dirty look, too, but she doesn’t even flinch.

“Realistically, Peter would have the best shot at it,” she adds, underlining a sentence in her textbook. “Seeing as he’ll be interning at the Future Foundation this summer. They could have a meet cute in the elevator in the Baxter Building or something.”

“Oh my god, yeah, I didn’t even think about that,” Harry says, delighted. “I’d give you a pass, Pete, so long as you gave me a blow-by-blow account afterward.”

“I don’t want a pass,” Peter says sulkily. “Why are you like, pimping me out? And anyway, the Baxter Building is huge. We’ll probably never come within fifty feet of each other.”

“I think I’d fuck him, and I’m not even into dudes like that,” Ned says thoughtfully as he examines a picture of Johnny Storm smoldering, literally and figuratively, in skinny jeans and a tight white t-shirt. “He’s that powerful.”

“Ned, noooo,” Peter groans. “Not you too.”

“Ned, my man, quick—fuck, marry, kill superhero edition...Captain America, Thor, Spider-Man,” Harry says.

Ned considers for a moment. “Are we talking new Captain America or old Captain America?” 

“New Cap.”

“Then fuck Thor, marry Captain America, kill Spider-Man,” Ned immediately answers.

Peter blinks at him, his mouth opening in an expression of outraged shock. “Ned! You’d kill Spider-Man? Our beloved friendly neighborhood Spider-Man?”

Ned snorts, rolling his eyes. “Peter, you would choose the same and you know it.”

“Yeah, probably,” Peter admits, shrugging.

“Your turn, Gwendy,” Harry says.

“Kill them all,” Gwen says, flipping the page of her textbook. “They’re a danger to society.”

“Damn,” Harry says, eyebrows raised. “Stacy’s here sounding like that Daily Bugle nut-job.”

“Half of the current Avengers team are former fugitives or assassins or both,” Gwen replies. “And then these new guys show up here from god-only-knows-where in the universe, and everybody immediately starts fawning over them, and it’s all we hear about. It’s disgusting. Why do we trust any of them? Have you seen the shit someone like Captain Marvel can do? The Accords are a joke. It’s like putting a paper muzzle on a tiger. The government is corrupt, and the supers are overpowered. There is no accountability.”

“Wow, I can’t wait to finally introduce you MJ,” Peter tells her. “That rant sounded like something straight outta her mouth. You’re gonna love her.”

“God, I hope so,” Gwen sighs, face still buried in her textbook. “I could use a friend with more than one braincell. I’m so sick of you idiots.”

“We love you, too, Gwendy,” Harry says, leaning over and planting a wet kiss on her cheek while she cringes away from him. “And you better enjoy this summer. When we come back to MIT, you’ll be sophomores. That’s when the _real_ suffering starts. The first year was just a tease.”

“Ugh,” Gwen, Ned, and Peter all groan in unison.

***

Gwen’s hard work and refusal to entertain Johnny Storm’s many charms pays off--she aces her final exams, bringing her first year at MIT to a horrifically stressful-but-ultimately-satisfying end. It’s an excellent start to a summer that was already looking rosy and promising, thanks to the internship at Stark Industries that she has lined up in New York City.

“Why the hell do you have so many boxes? You’re here in the city for two months, but you’ve packed for like ten years,” Harry complains, carelessly dumping one said box onto the floor of Gwen’s new furnished apartment in Manhattan--generously provided to her by Stark Industries’ internship program, which Gwen is fairly sure is code for Tony Stark doing a favor for Peter on her behalf.

“It’s like three boxes and a suitcase. Stop whining,” Gwen says, going over the wide window of the apartment’s neat little bedroom and admiring the view of Midtown, a smile turning up the corners of her mouth. It all still feels a little surreal, being here smack dab in the middle of Manhattan. She can see the building that houses SI’s Science and Tech division where she’ll be interning, and behind that the looming pinnacle of the Baxter Building.

“Well, they’re really heavy boxes,” Harry continues to whine. “Where the fuck is Peter? I thought he said he was gonna help.”

“He sent me a text saying he got held up,” Gwen replies, omitting the reason why. It astonishes her sometimes that Peter—reckless, dumb, world’s worst liar Peter—has managed to conceal the whole Spider-Man thing from Harry for this long. She thinks she’s ninety-eight-percent responsible for the success of maintaining this secrecy, because Peter certainly isn’t doing his part.

“Of course he did,” Harry says, flopping down on the bed. “You know, this is actually a nice little place. You have no idea how lucky you are to get free housing in Manhattan for an entire summer on top of a decent paycheck. Pete’s internship barely pays him a stipend. He’s gonna have to commute every day from his aunt’s place in Queens. I dunno how he’s gonna handle that, considering he’s late to everything. I give him two weeks before he’s fired.”

“Why don’t you let him stay at your loft here in Midtown?”

Harry shrugs, taking a joint out of his pocket and sliding it between his lips. “I offered. He turned me down. He’s weird about handouts, even if I’m just trying to be a good friend. He always has to do everything for himself, even though he sucks at it.”

Gwen marches over and plucks the joint out of his mouth. “If you stink up my brand new apartment, I’ll murder you.”

“God, you’re such a killjoy,” Harry says, rolling his eyes. “Let me take you out dancing at a club tonight. There’s actual good nightlife here in the city, not just shitty sports bars full of drunk Patriots fans like in Boston.”

“I have to be at my orientation tomorrow at eight in the morning,” Gwen replies, opening up a box and starting to put shirts away in the drawers of the dresser. “Some of us have actual responsibilities.”

Harry rolls his eyes again. “Jesus, you’re so uptight. Live a little, would ya? When was the last time you got laid?”

“Excuse me?” Gwen says, shooting a glare at him. “That’s none of your business. Don’t be rude.”

“I’m not being rude. I’m just asking a question,” Harry says. “Six months?”

“I’m not answering that,” Gwen replies, shoving more clothes into the drawer.

“A year?”

“I said—I’m not answering that.”

“Oh my god,” Harry says, a smile lighting up his face. “Gwendolyne, darling…are you a virgin?”

“So what if I am?” Gwen says, shutting the dresser drawer and turning around to face him. “Is there something wrong with that?”

“Not at all,” Harry insists. “That’s perfectly fine, perfectly normal. It’s all a bunch of made-up bullshit, anyway, right? I’m just… _curious._ Are you like…saving it or whatever?”

Gwen rolls her eyes this time, kneeling down to open another box. “No. I just have other priorities, alright? I don’t even think about it. It’s not a big deal.”

Harry digs another joint out of his pocket, lighting it and taking a long drag off it before Gwen can snatch it from him. “We should definitely go out tonight, then. This is your summer—the summer of Gwen. I’m gonna make this my mission. I’ll be like your Emma.”

Gwen groans. “That’s horrifying. _Please_ don’t. I’m in the city for this internship. I’m really not interested in dating or hooking up or any of that.”

“Too late. I’m already formulating plans,” Harry gleefully replies, puffing away on the joint. “Although you know, if you just wanted to get it out of the way, you could always ask Pete. He’d do it for you for sure.”

Gwen lets out a little incredulous laugh. “Okay, seriously—what is with you and attempting to pimp poor Peter out? First Johnny Storm, now me…do you get off on this?”

Harry blows a raspberry. “No. The Storm thing was just a joke—although god, can you imagine how hot that would be? I’m serious about you and Pete, though. You’re like my sister, Gwendy. I don’t want your first time to be with some sweaty neckbeard creep humping you on a little twin bed in a shitty dorm room. Pete’s a gentleman, in and out of the sack. He’s a sweet baby himbo who will treat you with the love and respect you deserve.”

Gwen rolls her eyes again. “The level of thought you’re putting into this is creepy and disgusting. And Peter is _not_ a himbo.”

“He abso-fucking-lutely is.”

“No—Peter is a _literal_ genius. You cannot ace a computational fluid dynamics exam without studying and also be a himbo,” Gwen argues.

“Himboness is not determined by intellect, Stacy. It’s a state of being, and Peter firmly resides there. He’s book smart, sure, but he’s a dumbass with great abs in every other way—a true himbo in every sense.”

Gwen scoffs, digging through the box. “Wrong. The qualifiers for being a himbo are dumb, hot, and kind. Peter is dumb and hot, I'll give you that, but he's a huge dick most of the time."

" _Slander._ Pete's a sweetheart."

"Your brain is warped by all the drugs you do," Gwen says. "But whatever--I still don’t want to sleep with him. And I’m sure he wouldn’t appreciate the suggestion, either.”

Harry waves a hand, blowing a long stream of smoke towards the ceiling. “He’d be fine with it. We’re basically a thrupple.”

Gwen lets out an incredulous laugh. “No, we are _not._ I didn’t consent to being a part of that. You are so--”

She’s interrupted by a knock at the door. It opens, and Peter walks through, carrying a pair of boxes stacked one on top of the other. He leans his head around them and smiles at her.

“Hey, guys, sorry I’m late,” he says breathlessly. “I, uh...got held up--bus was late, or...where do you want these?”

“Just set them over there,” Gwen says, pointing to the corner of the room.

“Hey, Pete?” Harry says while Peter sets the boxes down. “Are you, me, and Gwen a thrupple?”

Peter straightens up, a contemplative look on his face, before his shrugs. “Yeah, basically.”

“I hate both of you,” Gwen says sourly, returning her attention to rummaging through the box in front of her.

Peter wanders over next to her, looking out the window. “Wow, this place is crazy nice. Look at the view.” 

“It is really nice,” Gwen agrees as she takes a sweater out of the box, tilting her head back to look up at him. 

“Thank you,” she adds quietly, smiling.

Peter smiles back at her, shrugging. 

“I’m just so happy we get to spend the summer together. I’d hug you, but I’m really gross and sweaty,” he says, lifting the hem of his t-shirt to wipe his face and unselfconsciously giving Gwen an eyeful of chiseled abs.

She pauses with a sweater dangling in her hands to stare at him, objectively appraising.

“You’re thinking about it,” Harry pipes up from the bed, a smug grin on his face.

“Shut up, Harry,” Gwen mutters, turning around and savagely stuffing the sweater into the dresser. “You don’t know shit about what I’m thinking.”

Peter looks between the two of them, eyebrows raised. “What?”

“Nothing, man,” Harry says, laughing while Gwen glares daggers at him over her shoulder.

***

Gwen will meet MJ on a sticky hot Saturday in front of the Met and she’ll quickly realize two things: that Peter is stupid in love with MJ and too dumb to know it, and that it’s going to break Gwen’s heart.

But for right now, all Gwen can think about are her shoes.

They’re a brand new pair she bought specifically for her internship, dressy enough to compliment business casual attire but practical enough to be lab safe. They also pinch horribly, Gwen has discovered after hours walking around in them. She’s very much wishing she had had time after her orientation that morning to switch them out for sneakers before joining Peter on this excursion to the museum. The shoes hadn’t bothered her while she’d been wrapped up in the excitement of her first tour of the laboratories at Stark Industries, but they’re killing her now.

“You’re gonna love MJ,” Peter tells Gwen for the umpteenth time, drumming his fingers against the sticky subway seat he’s perched on as they ride the train to meet Michelle.

“Yeah, you keep saying that,” Gwen says, reaching down to tug at the back of her shoes where they’re digging into her heels. 

“Are you gonna ask me how my orientation went?” she asks Peter petulantly, a little put out that he hasn’t brought it up yet.

Peter blinks at her, pausing his drumming. He has the courtesy to look a little abashed. “Oh, yeah...how was it?”

“It was amazing,” Gwen gushes. “They took us down in the basement and showed us the arc reactor that powers the whole building, and we got to see a presentation about the new tokamak fusion reactor prototype SI is developing as part of its clean energy initiative--just one of them alone will be able to power the whole entire city, can you believe that?”

“Yeah, that’s so cool,” Peter says distractedly, drumming his fingers again while glancing at his phone, a smile lighting up his face. “Oh, good--MJ just texted to say that she’s there waiting for us.”

Gwen frowns at him, annoyed by his disinterest.

“I also told everyone that you’re Spider-Man,” she adds.

“That sounds great,” Peter says, hopping up to his feet while the train is still moving. “This is our stop here.”

Gwen sighs and rolls her eyes as she stands up, wincing as her shoes pinch her toes.

Michelle is waiting for them on the steps in front of the Met, dressed in a long sundress and sneakers and fanning herself with a pamphlet. Gwen’s seen plenty of photos of her on Instagram and on Peter’s camera roll, but Gwen thinks she’s prettier in person, tall and striking and clearly not comfortable with it judging by the way she slouches and rounds her shoulders. 

Michelle gives them a little close-lipped smile as they approach her, crossing her arms over her chest.

“You’re late,” she announces when they reach her.

“Yeah, sorry, it’s one-hundred percent my fault,” Peter says sheepishly, beaming at her. “But you already know that.”

Michelle’s smile curls wider, one shoulder dropping as she relaxes into the familiarity. “I do.”

Gwen shifts her weight, her shoes pinching mercilessly. She gives Peter an expectant look, eyebrows raised, waiting for him to introduce her, but Peter only has eyes for Michelle.

“I like your dress,” he blurts out. “I don’t see you in dresses very often. You look nice in a dress. But you look nice _not_ in dresses, too--I mean, in other clothes,” he adds hastily.

“Oh my god...pathetic,” Gwen mutters under her breath.

Michelle overhears her and glances her way, a smile twitching at the corner of her mouth.

“Thanks. It’s thrifted.” Michelle clears her throat, glancing back at Gwen again and then looking at Peter, an eyebrow raised. “So...are you gonna introduce us, or…”

“Oh! Sorry, I’m an ass. This is Gwen,” Peter says, nudging Gwen forward. 

Gwen smiles, holding out a hand. “Hi. Nice to finally meet you.”

Michelle smiles back, taking her hand and shaking it. “Hi. MJ. Peter’s told me a lot about you. You sound like a really cool, smart person, so I gotta ask--why are you wasting your time with this loser?”

“What can I say….he’s my charity case,” Gwen replies with a shrug. “If not me, then who?”

MJ clasps her hands over her heart in mock awe. “That’s so brave and selfless of you. I commend your noble sacrifice.”

Gwen turns towards Peter, smiling. “You’re right--I do love her.”

“Okay, I’m already starting to regret introducing the two of you. I should have seen this coming,” Peter says glumly. “You guys both love to bully me and now you’re gonna feed off each other.”

“You deserve it,” MJ says. “All the shit you put us through....you’re getting off light.”

“I _really_ love her,” Gwen tells Peter with a grin.

“Can we just go inside?” Peter asks flatly, gesturing towards the museum.

“So,” MJ says once they’re inside, strolling through a hallway lined with large oil paintings. “Is this your first time in New York City?”

“No, my dad and I have visited a couple of times, but it’s my first time being back here since the Blip,” Gwen replies, taking short, awkward steps in an attempt to avoid aggravating the blisters she can feel popping up on her heels and toes. “So it’s been a while. It all feels pretty new again.”

“She’s doing an internship at Stark Industries,” Peter says. “She’ll be here the whole summer, so we’ll have lots of time to show her around.” 

He pauses a moment, folding and unfolding the map he’d picked up at the entrance to the museum. 

“Maybe we can all go out sometime,” he suggests. “I mean, like, you and Brad and me and Gwen. Like...a double date or whatever.”

“We’re not dating. I don’t care what Harry says,” Gwen reminds him, but Peter shrugs her off. 

MJ flashes Gwen another quick smile. “Yeah, uh...Brad and I actually broke up right before finals, so.”

“Oh, you did? I’m sorry,” Peter says, not sounding sorry about that at all. Gwen fights back the urge to roll her eyes. She’s regretting ever agreeing to this trip, and not just because every step she takes in these shitty shoes feels like she’s walking on broken glass.

MJ shrugs. “It’s fine. It was a mutual decision. We just outgrew each other or whatever.”

“Cool, yeah. That’s good. Best way to break up—not that there’s a _best_ way, but I mean, it could be worse,” Peter says. “You could, you know...still have feelings for him or something.”

Gwen stares at him, shaking her head. She’s starting to think Harry is right—Peter really is an idiot with great abs.

“I could, but I don’t,” MJ says bluntly, pausing in front of an oil painting depicting a pair of pink-cheeked shepherd boys in loincloths carrying lambs across their shoulders in a pastel-colored pasture.

“Oh, well. Good. Good for you. Clean break.” Peter clears his throat, gesturing to the painting.

“This is kinda nice,” he says. “Bucolic.”

MJ shrugs. “Yeah, if you’re into bland homoerotism that fetishizes whiteness and youth and encourages a toxic nostalgia for a false idyllic agrarian past that ignores centuries of brutal class oppression and slavery.”

“I mean—no, I’m not,” Peter says, fumbling. “I just meant like, you know...the colors…?”

“I’m just teasing you,” MJ says with a playful smirk, casting a sly glance at Gwen. “You get so pink when you’re embarrassed. It’s cute.”

“Oh,” Peter says, going even pinker.

“Personally, I like that one,” Gwen pipes up, pointing to a large painting of a bare-breasted woman holding a man’s bloody severed head on a platter. “It speaks to me for some reason.”

“Yeah, me too,” MJ agrees, coming to stand beside Gwen. “Female rage. I’m into it.”

She flashes Gwen a quick, knowing smile, like they’re in on some secret together, and Gwen feels her stomach do a funny little twist.

“You guys are kinda scary together,” Peter says, before reaching to pull his phone out of his back pocket. It buzzes noisily in his hand as he frowns down at the screen, grimacing.

“Shit. I’m really sorry, but I gotta run,” he says, pocketing the phone. “Something’s come up—you know…” he glances around and then drops his voice, “Spidey things.”

“Please be careful,” Gwen says, frowning.

“I will. Sorry,” Peter says, backing towards the exit. “MJ—it was really good to see you again. Can you make sure Gwen gets back home okay?”

“I’ll take care of her, don’t worry,” MJ assures him.

“Thanks. Sorry,” Peter says a third time, before turning and sprinting away, ignoring the glare the security guard shoots his way.

“So,” MJ says after an awkward beat of silence. “You figured it out. Peter’s secret.”

“Like two seconds after meeting him,” Gwen confirms. “He’s so dumb.”

MJ smiles. “Yeah, he is. It’s kinda a cool bond—sharing someone’s else’s huge secret. That level of responsibility—it’s powerful, you know?”

“Yeah, it is,” Gwen agrees, smiling back. “We could totally blackmail Peter into doing anything if we wanted to.”

MJ lets out a sharp laugh. “I never thought about it, but wow, you’re right, we absolutely could.” She looks at Gwen, her smile curling wider. “You know he’s BFFs with a billionaire, right? We could demand a private island. If shit gets too weird and bleak here, we just peace out.”

“Sounds like a good backup plan, yeah.”

“I have a lotta good plans,” MJ says, tossing back her hair, and Gwen believes it. “Have you met him yet?”

“Tony Stark?”

“Yeah.”

Gwen shakes her head, shrugging. “No. I mean, I’m just a summer intern.”

“You’re Peter’s friend. Stark probably knows when you lost your first baby tooth,” MJ says drolly. “If you spend any amount of time with Peter, you’ll meet him eventually. And just a heads up—he is...a _trip._ Nothing like what you’re expecting.”

“Yeah, Peter’s mentioned that he’s…eccentric.”

MJ snorts, looking down briefly before smiling at Gwen again. “So I was reading that there’s an exhibit of Wakandan art on loan here for the next few weeks. You wanna check it out?”

Gwen hesitates. “Can I be brutally honest with you?”

“Of course. I respect brutal honesty.”

“Okay, so--I am wearing _terrible_ shoes and my feet are killing me, and the idea of walking any further through this museum makes me seriously want to cry,” Gwen says. “And not to sound like a douchey STEM major, but I really have no interest in fine art. I’m just here because of Peter, and I’m pretty sure he’s just here because he thought you’d like it, and he’s not very creative.”

MJ huffs out a little laugh, still smiling. “That’s okay. No worries. I could just take you home if you want, or...maybe we could just like, I dunno...sit down and get a pizza somewhere nearby?”

“Yes, that sounds amazing,” Gwen says, relieved.

“Cool. There’s a pizza place around the corner--it’s a shitty tourist spot, so please don’t form any opinions about New York pizza based on it,” MJ says with another little smile. “I’ll take you somewhere better on a day when you’re not wearing terrible shoes.”

Gwen returns her smile. “Thanks. I’d like that.”

MJ takes a step closer and chivalrously offers an arm to Gwen, who gratefully takes it, hooking her own arm around MJ’s elbow and hobbling alongside her.


	2. Chapter 2

“Gwen, babe—what’s your opinion on facial hair?” Harry asks, lounging on her bed and intently scrolling through his phone.

“What?” Gwen asks with a frown, looking up from the laptop where she’s been working on editing a long report for her internship.

“Are you into beards? I bet you prefer a clean-cut look…”

“I don’t know—I have no opinion on facial hair,” Gwen says irritably, returning her attention to her report.

“I’ll stick to clean-cut, then. What about tattoos? I’ve never met a guy whose tattoos aren’t a tragic embarrassment, but maybe you can overlook that.”

Gwen looks up again, squinting at him. “ _What?_ What are you doing?”

“I made you a Tinder profile,” Harry explains, turning his phone around to show her. “You are getting a _lot_ of interest, by the way.”

“You fucking _what?_ Harry!” Gwen snaps at him. “Delete it right now.”

“Will you relax? I’m not setting up any dates. I’m just checking out viable options in the area,” Harry says. “I’m planning a big party for next Friday--I’m just looking for some single dudes I can invite that might strike your fancy.”

Gwen presses her hands to her temples, groaning through clenched teeth. “What is wrong with you? Are you _that_ bored? You need to get a job or something. You have too much time on your hands.”

“I’m just trying to help you out. You’ve been in the city for nearly three weeks now and you’ve barely left your apartment except to go to your internship.”

“This internship is a lot of work,” Gwen replies, fixing a typo in the report. “And I have too gone out. I had dinner with MJ and Ned just a few days ago.”

“Oh, yeah, I bet that was exciting,” Harry deadpans. “You nerds probably had a raucous debate about Star Wars or something.”

“You could have joined us, you know,” Gwen says mildly. “You’d really like MJ, if you’d just get your head out of your ass.”

“Sorry, I feel a bit weird about hanging out with my guy’s ex-girlfriend, especially when it’s painfully clear that he still has a thing for her,” Harry says bitterly. “If that makes me an ass, then so be it.”

“She’s not his ex-girlfriend. They never dated. They’re just friends,” Gwen corrects, deciding not to comment on whether or not Peter has feelings for Michelle. She does enough lying for him.

Harry dismissively waves a hand. “It’s whatever. I’m used to being the backup choice.”

“Oh god,” Gwen groans, pressing her hands to her head again. “Please don’t start this again. If it bothers you that much, then break up with him. Go feral and enjoy the summer of Harry. Make _yourself_ a Tinder profile and leave me alone.”

“I’m not gonna break up with him. I love that stupid inconsiderate asshole,” Harry says, taking out a pack of cigarettes. He taps one out and sets it between his lips, but doesn’t light it, cowed by the warning glare Gwen fixes him with. “Anyway...I couldn’t do that to him right now. He is _stressed_ about something. Like crying all the time and irrationally angry, apologizing every ten seconds for god only knows what, never sleeping or eating, disappearing for days on end without so much as a text...”

Gwen frowns, shrugging. “That just sounds like normal Peter.”

Harry shakes his head. “Maybe, but...I’m seriously kinda worried about him. I haven’t seen him in like a week, and he’s only responded to like two of my texts. Have you heard from him lately?”

“No,” Gwen admits. “But he’s a big boy. He can take care of himself.”

“Can he, though?” Harry asks skeptically. “I have never met someone who is simultaneously brilliant and a complete incompetent disaster like Peter Parker.”

“Yeah, I can’t argue with that. Look—call his aunt if you’re that worried. He always answers for her. She knows how to talk him down from the ledge.”

“So do you,” Harry says, his eyes pleading. “Will you try calling him? I’m seriously concerned he’s lying dead in a dumpster somewhere.”

Gwen sighs, rubbing the bridge of her nose. “Okay. I’ll check on him. I’ll call him tonight. But you _have_ to delete that Tinder profile.”

“Yeah, yeah, you got it. I’ll absolutely do that,” Harry says unconvincingly, back to swiping on his phone.

Gwen rolls her eyes, shaking her head as she hunches over her laptop.

***

Gwen fully intends to hold up her end of the bargain, but the next time she looks up from her laptop, she’s alone in her little apartment and it’s gotten dark outside of the windows, or at least as dark as it ever gets in Midtown Manhattan. 

She sits up straighter, stretching out the painful kink in her neck. She glances at the time displayed on her laptop’s screen--it’s nearly midnight. Peter can wait, Gwen thinks as she unfolds herself from her desk chair and shuffles stiff-legged over to the kitchen. She reheats some Thai takeout in the microwave and eats it in front of the TV while some mindless cooking competition plays on the screen.

She’s rinsing her plate in the sink and thinking about going to bed when there’s an unexpected knock at the door.

Gwen frowns, walking over to the door and standing on her tip-toes to peer through the peephole. She jolts in surprise and confusion when she sees who it is standing on the other side, and then feels a rush of something else that she can’t put a name to, something warm and eager and anxious all at once.

Gwen fumbles at the lock, opening the door and blinking owlishly at her visitor.

MJ’s standing in the hallway with a backpack slung over one shoulder, carrying cheap boxed wine in her hand. She offers Gwen a tight-lipped smile.

“Okay, so I know this is super awkward and we’ve only hung out a few times,” MJ starts, “but my parents are fighting again and, uh—I can’t be home right now. I tried Peter’s place first but he’s not there, and Ned is away in Connecticut at his girlfriend’s, but he texted me your address, and I don’t have any other friends or anywhere else to go, so—”

“Yes,” Gwen interrupts.

MJ raises her eyebrows. “Yes?”

“I mean, yeah, you can stay here,” Gwen says, opening the door wider.

MJ shifts her weight, her shoulders dropping a little, like a coil under tension relaxing.

“Cool. Thanks,” she says, stepping across the threshold. She holds up the wine and smiles again, almost shyly. “I, um....I stole some boxed wine from my parents. It’s not classy, but it’ll get the job done.”

Gwen smiles back. “I think boxed wine is underrated, really.”

She takes the wine into the kitchen and pours it into a couple of glasses while MJ stands beside her, slouching her shoulders again. Gwen’s hands are shaking a little for some inexplicable reason. She spills some of the wine on the countertop, feeling heat prickle across the bridge of her nose as she flushes in embarrassment.

MJ doesn’t seem to notice, though, accepting the glass from Gwen with another close-lipped smile.

“Do you wanna maybe watch a movie?” Gwen offers. “I have terrible tastes in movies and only own cheesy rom-coms, just warning you.”

“I love cheesy rom-coms,” MJ says, her smile curling wider as she looks at Gwen. 

Gwen feels like she’s been struck by a bolt of lightning.

“Great,” she hears herself chirp, almost manic sounding. 

Her feet seem to move of their own accord, carrying her to her bedroom while MJ trails close behind. 

“Make yourself comfortable,” Gwen says as she collects her laptop from her desk, waving a hand at her bed. She fumbles clumsily to free her laptop from the various cords attached to it, and then she turns around and nearly drops it.

MJ’s sitting in Gwen’s bed, propped up against the headboard, wine glass cupped in one hand. She’s turned slightly on her side, and Gwen’s eyes are drawn to the defined curve of her hip and the long line of her legs. She’s taken her shoes off, and her bare feet are crossed at the ankle, chipped nail polish shining on her toes.

Gwen swallows, clutching her laptop to her chest. Her mouth has gone suddenly dry. She remembers her own wine and reaches to grab it off the desk where she’d set it down, taking a long, deep gulp of it.

“Alright! Well, please don’t make fun of my terrible collection of terrible movies,” Gwen says with artificial brightness as she clambers awkwardly onto the bed and sits down next to MJ.

“I won’t,” MJ promises, sounding amused. “I’m seriously looking forward to this. Anything’s better than listening to my parents yell at each other.”

“I’m really sorry about your parents,” Gwen offers quietly.

MJ shrugs, but Gwen doesn’t miss the way her jaw briefly tightens. “It’s whatever. A lot of people have way shittier parents. Mine are alright, they’re really good to me and my sister, they’d do anything for us...they just have this weird narcissistic thing where they refuse to divorce, and they deal with their misery by making everyone around them feel just as miserable. And the most annoying part...”

She stops a moment, her jaw working again, like she’s chewing the words and can’t decide if she wants to spit them out or swallow them, before she continues. “The most annoying part is, like...I got Blipped, okay? I’m gone for five whole years, and I come back...and _nothing’s_ changed with them. You’d think that something like that happens, and, I dunno...they’d maybe...”

She trails off, looking down at her glass of wine cradled in her lap, her eyelashes wet.

“I’m sorry,” Gwen says again.

Michelle sniffs, waving a hand. “It’s fine. I have my escape plan plotted out. Gonna bust my ass at Barnard, then go to law school on the complete opposite side of the country, eventually making my triumphant return to the city as a completely independent woman.”

She looks over at Gwen. “I call this plan ‘the emancipation of MJ.’” She says it jokingly, but her smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

“I think that’s a really good plan,” Gwen says honestly. She wets her lips. “This, um—it’s not the same, but...my mom died when I was little, and after that my dad and I were really close. But then he got Blipped and...I dunno, when he came back things were...different. We don’t fight or anything, but...it’s like, when he left I was this little girl and when he came back I wasn’t anymore, and I think he just…doesn’t know what to do about that. About me...it’s like we’re strangers now. So...I know how much it sucks to feel like your parents aren’t completely there for you.”

MJ gives a jerky little nod, her lips pressed into a tight little line, before offering Gwen a brittle smile. “Wow, look at us. We’re hardcore trauma bonding right now.”

Gwen smiles back. “I mean, whatever it takes, right? Peter and Harry and Ned—they’ve become like family to me, in the sense that I love them to death but they also drive me completely crazy with how dumb and annoying they are. It’s kinda nice, you know, to have a girlfriend to talk to?”

MJ’s own smile softens. “Yeah, actually, it is. Really nice. I, uh...I don’t have a lot of friends--probably because I do weird things like show up at acquaintances' apartments late at night with zero warning, but...I like you a lot. I mean--I like hanging out with you. I’m trying to be better about, like...opening up to people or whatever, and, I dunno...you’re just nice and chill. Makes it easier. So. Thanks.”

Gwen feels a rush of warmth blossom in her chest. “Yeah. I like you, too. I’m really glad you came over tonight.”

MJ smiles again at those words, her eyes shining. Gwen is suddenly aware of how close they’re sitting to each other, so close that if she wanted, if she was brave enough, she could just lean over and—

Something large and heavy slams into the balcony door, startling them both. Gwen spits out an expletive as she nearly jumps out of her skin, spilling wine all over her new bedspread.

They both look towards the balcony door, where Spider-Man is splayed out across the glass. He gives them a little wave.

“Oh my god, Peter! You dumbass,” Gwen hisses as she swings her legs over the side of the bed and stalks over to the door. She unlocks it and slides it open. “Where the _fuck_ have you been?”

“I can’t tell you, it’s crazy dangerous, but I’m fine,” Peter says, stumbling over to the bed and sitting down on the end of it. He yanks his mask off and looks between Gwen and MJ with wide bloodshot eyes.

“Hey. You guys will not fucking believe what just happened to me,” he announces.

“Are you _high_ right now?” MJ asks, an incredulous smile tugging at her mouth.

“Oh god, yes, I am,” Peter gravely confirms. “But listen—I just met Johnny Storm.”

“Oh my god, you idiot...you disappear for a week and freak everyone out, and now you’re saying you’ve been hanging out with a celebrity?” Gwen asks, climbing back into bed next to MJ. “Harry was about to file a missing person report with the police.”

Peter shakes his head. “I wasn’t hanging out with a celebrity that whole time—I was on a job, okay? But forget that—so this afternoon I’m out Spider-Man-ing, right? And I’m like, just, swinging around, you know? And here comes Johnny Storm like...like...like a flying human torch or whatever, and he introduces himself to me.” He pauses, considering for a moment. “Well, to Spider-Man.”

“Uh-huh,” MJ says, clearly struggling to hold back her amusement. “Very cool.”

“No, hold on, I’m not done—so he introduces himself. And he’s like… _nervous_. Really nervous. To meet me—Spider-Man me. And then…he invites me back to his place,” Peter says, staring wide-eyed at the pair of them.

“Did you go?” Gwen prompts, when it becomes obvious Peter isn’t going to continue on his own.

“Hell yeah, I went. And it was… _weird_. Very weird,” Peter says. “Turns out—dude is a huuuuuuge Spider-Man fan. Like, merchandise everywhere—posters, little bobble-head figurine things, comic books, just all kinds of Spider-Man shit. And I’m thinking like…oh man, maybe this guy is a deranged fan, because this is… _a lot._ Like, did he lure me here to kill me and keep my mummified corpse in a closet or something to defile?”

“So what happened?” MJ asks.

Peter shrugs. “Well, he didn’t murder me, obviously. We split a six-pack of beer and consumed an unholy amount of edibles, and watched the last inning of the Mets game on his huge TV. It was very chill. And then I came over here ‘cause I had to tell someone about it.”

Gwen snorts. “Great story, Peter. Very exciting stuff.”

“No, but listen…he is...so hot in person. Soooooo hot,” Peter tells them, his face comically solemn. “I don’t just mean like, you know, the whole being engulfed in flames thing. I mean he’s like.... _so_ hot.”

“Yeah, you said that,” MJ replies, the corners of her mouth twitching as she fights back a smile.

“No, you don’t get it. He is...crazy hot,” Peter insists, sniffing. “I had to stop on top of a building on the way over here and jerk one out ‘cause he got me that bothered.”

“Ew, Peter!” Gwen squeals, shoving him off the end of the bed with her foot while MJ collapses backwards, cackling. “You better have washed your hands before you stepped foot in my apartment.”

“I’m wearing gloves,” Peter says, holding his hands up from where he lies sprawled on the floor.

“I don’t care. And I thought you hated Johnny Storm,” Gwen says.

“I do. It was a hate wank,” Peter explains. “I’m so disgusted and ashamed with myself right now.”

“You should be. That’s nasty,” Gwen says, throwing a pillow at him. “I don’t care that you’re a superhero—I’m pretty sure public masturbation is a class three misdemeanor.”

“No one could see me. I was sneaky,” Peter insists. “Oh my god, I’m serious—I’m questioning my whole life right now. I’m experiencing like, an intense sexual awakening. I’ve never felt this way towards a guy before.”

“Peter, you’ve been in a romantic relationship with a guy for an entire semester now,” Gwen reminds him, while MJ wheezes next to her.

“But that’s _Harry._ It’s different. Harry is smart, and funny, and nice. I love Harry the _person_ , not Harry the guy,” Peter explains. “I hate Johnny Storm the person. He’s an arrogant, reckless idiot. But Johnny Storm the guy? I want him to father my children.”

“You need to go to therapy,” Gwen says, throwing another pillow at him. “Your internalized homophobia isn’t cute or healthy.”

“I _do_ go to therapy,” Peter replies. “And I’m still so unprepared, oh my god!”

“I’m so glad I came over here tonight,” MJ says, sitting up and wiping tears of mirth out of her eyes. “You are so dumb, Peter. I love you so much.”

“I am having a crisis right now, and you guys are mocking me,” Peter complains. “I should have—”

The rest of his statement abruptly cuts off, descending into a long silence.

“Peter? Hello?” Gwen calls eventually.

MJ crawls to the end of the bed, peering down at him. “I think he’s broken. Oh, lord...Peter, are you laughing or crying? I seriously can’t tell.”

“I don’t know either,” Peter says, his voice coming out muffled and choked. “I don’t know what’s going on. I am _not_ having a good time right now. Where’s Gwen? Why did she leave? I need her.”

Gwen crawls to the end of the bed, too, waving at him. “I’m right here, you dope. I’ve been here the whole time. You’re stoned off your ass and you have the object permanence of a newborn baby now.”

Peter hauls himself upright, dragging himself onto the bed and promptly collapsing against her, clinging to her like a child. 

“I love you so much, Gwendy,” he slurs, his breath coming in wet sobs. “I _love_ you, like...I _love_ you so much. I missed you. Don’t go anywhere, okay?”

“I won’t go anywhere,” Gwen promises as she rubs his heaving back, casting an amused look over at MJ. “I think you need to go to sleep now, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah… _god,_ I’m so tired,” Peter mumbles, his body heavy on top of Gwen’s.

“I know, honey,” Gwen says kindly, patting his head. “Go to sleep.”

Peter mumbles something else, his cheek smooshed against Gwen’s shoulder.

Gwen looks over the top of his head at MJ, offering her an apologetic smile. “I am _so_ sorry. He’s so embarrassing.”

“No, this was perfect,” MJ says, still recovering from her mirth, a huge smile on her face. “This is exactly what I needed.”

“Oh, good,” Gwen says, grinning back at her. She shifts under Peter’s dead weight, trying to find a more comfortable position where he isn’t crushing her ribs.

“Here, let me help you,” MJ says, tugging at Peter’s limp arm. She pulls as Gwen pushes, and together they manage to roll Peter off her onto his back. He immediately starts to noisily snore.

“Oh my god,” Gwen groans, pressing a hand to her eyes as she laughs. “Do you think we should just shove a pillow over his face and put him out of his misery?”

MJ snorts. “It’s very tempting, not gonna lie.”

Gwen turns on her side towards her, smiling. “Hey, um...feel free to turn me down, but Harry’s throwing a party next Friday—it’s stupid, he’s trying to like, find me a date or something like his own personal version of the Bachelorette, and I’m kinda dreading it. I mean, he's dating Peter so I know his taste in romantic partners is complete garbage. But maybe you’d want to come with me? Could be fun, then.”

MJ snorts again, another smile curling the corners of her mouth. “You and me versus the fuckboys of New York City...yeah, I’d like that.”

“Great,” Gwen says, returning her smile, finding that she very much likes the idea of her and MJ standing together against the world.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep, that's me, adding another chapter because I'm terrible at planning XD. Happy Holidays everyone!

“I know I’ve already said this like a hundred times, but thanks for going to this party with me,” Gwen says, curling and uncurling her hands in her lap as the subway car jostles her in her seat. “I was dreading it.”

MJ shrugs, smiling as she leans against one of the car’s poles. “I think it will be fun. I always have fun when I’m with you.”

Gwen smiles back at her, feeling a pleasant flutter in her stomach. MJ’s gotten dressed up for the party in a far more glamorous look than Gwen’s ever seen her in, with dark lipstick and glittery eyeshadow, her hair tumbling in tight curls over her bare shoulders. Gwen’s breath catches a little every time she looks at her.

“You look really pretty tonight,” Gwen tells her, feeling a flush spread across her cheeks that intensifies when MJ smiles at her again, soft and affectionate.

“So do you,” MJ says.

Gwen feels like her face is on fire, like her whole body is made of light. She’s so flustered she doesn’t even realize the train has come to a stop until MJ straightens up, letting go of the pole.

“I think this is our stop, right?” MJ says.

“Yeah, yep, this is it,” Gwen says, scrambling up out of her seat. 

The steamy night air they step out into as they come up the station stairs does nothing to relieve Gwen of the heat that’s swallowing her up. It’s almost a relief to arrive at the party at Harry’s enormous loft and be greeted by a crowd of dancing bodies and loud music, the noise and sights overwhelming any other sensation.

Harry emerges from the pack with a drink in both hands, squeezing between party-goers. A grin spreads across his face as he approaches them.

“Oh my god, is that my beautiful Gwendy actually emerging from the lab to do something fun?” he greets, hugging Gwen tightly while she rolls her eyes. “How’s life in the big scary city treating ya, babe?”

“I grew up in Boston, not some hamlet in the Midwest,” she reminds him.

Harry snorts. “Boston might as well be a shitty little hamlet compared to our glorious filthy city.” He looks over the top of Gwen’s head at MJ, his smile cooling. “Hey, MJ. Nice to see you again. You come with Pete?”

“I invited her, actually,” Gwen says, giving Harry a hard _be nice_ look. “Peter didn’t come with us. I dunno where he is.”

“Well, isn’t that typical Peter,” Harry says, his breezy tone underlined with a hint of brittleness. “The mystery man.”

“I’m sure he’ll show up eventually,” Gwen says evenly.

“Maybe,” Harry says with a shrug. He gestures widely at the party. “Food and booze are in the kitchen. Go get drinks and mingle. Everyone here is fully vetted and at least an eight in terms of looks and personality,” he adds, winking at Gwen. “Maybe you’ll meet that special someone tonight.”

Gwen groans. “Oh my god, you are the _worst._ ”

She slips a hand through MJ’s elbow, tugging her towards the kitchen. “Come on, I need to get trashed.”

“Have fun, Gwendy!” Harry calls after her. “The guest room is made up with fresh sheets! I even sprinkled rose petals on the bedspread!”

Gwen flips him the bird as she shoulders her way through the crowd.

“So I get the impression that Harry doesn’t like me very much,” MJ says with a wry smile when they reach the kitchen.

Gwen rolls her eyes as she pours them both a drink. “Harry is weird. Just ignore him. The whole eccentric rich boy thing—it’s all an act to hide how deeply insecure he is. His horrible dad completely fucked up his self-confidence. It’s sad, really. He’s just jealous because Peter is crazy about you.”

The words are out of her mouth before she realizes it, and then she instantly regrets it. She chances a glance up at MJ’s face, but MJ’s expression is unreadable.

“Did Peter tell you that?” MJ asks quietly.

Gwen gives a jerky little shrug, toying with her drink, a tightness forming in the pit of her stomach. “No. But I mean…it’s obvious.”

There’s an uncomfortable pause, and then MJ asks, “Does that bother you?”

Gwen looks up at her again, startled, feeling heat prickle across her cheekbones. “Does it bother me? Why would it bother me?”

MJ shakes her head, looking down into her own cup. “You guys just seem really close, is all.”

“Oh, no—I mean, yeah, sure, we’re close, but just as friends,” Gwen explains. “I think I’d literally rather spend the rest of my life alone than ever have a romantic relationship with Peter Parker. I love him, I really, really do, but his life is like, one crisis after another, and I really couldn’t deal with the drama. So…um, if you, you know…if you’re interested, then…you should go for it.”

She offers MJ a tight smile, swallowing down the hard knot that’s squeezing her throat.

MJ looks at her for a moment, that unreadable expression still on her face, but then a slow smile turns up the corners of her mouth.

“Yeah, you’re right. Maybe…I should go for it,” she agrees. “Would you…maybe wanna…”

She trails off, her gaze shifting to focus on something beyond Gwen’s shoulder.

“Oh my god…” MJ murmurs, her eyebrows raised. “Is that…Johnny Storm?”

Gwen turns around. She spots Harry first, his face already flushed from too much alcohol, one arm slung around Peter’s shoulders, who is also looking slightly worse-for-wear despite the fact that he must have only just arrived at the party. Peter’s wearing a sulky expression, the misery on his face accentuated by a plum-colored shiner ringing one of his eyes, while Harry engages in animated conversation with a tall blonde guy in a tight, bicep-baring t-shirt.

“Yep,” Gwen confirms. “I’m pretty sure that’s him.”

“Wow, Peter wasn’t exaggerating. He is objectively a gorgeous specimen of a human being,” MJ says with a thoughtful expression, like she’s observing a science experiment. “That jawline…wow. I'm honestly speechless.”

“Yeah, I can see the appeal. Oh…poor Peter…he is clearly suffering,” Gwen says with a smile. “Should we rescue him?”

“No, I’m enjoying this too much,” MJ says with sadistic delight.

Gwen snorts out a laugh, but her amusement turns into alarm as Harry points over in her direction. Johnny Storm turns to look, catching Gwen’s gaze. He smiles, and then starts weaving his way through the crowd towards where Gwen stands with MJ.

“Oh god, he’s coming over here,” Gwen mutters, hurriedly gulping down her drink in the hopes of getting completely wasted in the next ten seconds before he arrives.

“He sure is,” MJ replies, sounding amused.

Johnny strolls up to them. He smiles again at Gwen, showing twin rows of dazzling white teeth. “Gwen Stacy?”

“That’s me,” Gwen confirms, politely returning the smile.

“Harry’s been talking you up, so I’d thought I’d come over and say hi,” Johnny greets, holding out a hand. "Johnny Storm.”

“I know,” Gwen says, shaking his proffered hand. She gestures to MJ. “This is Michelle.”

“Cool. Hey, Michelle, nice to meet you,” Johnny says, turning his brilliant smile on her.

“Hey.” MJ gives him a little head nod. “You can call me MJ.”

“Cool,” Johnny says again, before returning his attention to Gwen. “So…Harry tells me you go to MIT with him. Tough school to get into. You must be really smart.”

“Uh, well…I worked really, really hard.”

“Awesome. I like smart girls,” Johnny says, his smile widening.

“Ooookay,” Gwen replies, her face starting to hurt a little from maintaining her own polite smile. She glances past Johnny and spots Harry watching them from the other side of the room. He meets her gaze and grins, giving her twin thumbs up. Gwen starts mentally listing all the ways she’s going to murder him and where she’ll hide the body.

“Would you…wanna dance maybe?” Johnny asks, jerking his head towards the makeshift dance floor.

Gwen looks back at him, internally grimacing. “Oh…uh…thank you, but I don’t really dance.”

Johnny shrugs, still smiling. “Me neither. Maybe we could go grab a bite to eat somewhere, instead? I’ve got a standing reservation at basically every restaurant in the city, so you just tell me what you’re in the mood for and I’ll make it happen.”

“Um…that’s so nice,” Gwen replies, wishing that the fire alarm would go off, that she could sink into the ground, that a meteor would strike Earth at that very moment and obliterate them all. “But…I really…can’t accept.”

Johnny looks a little taken aback by her refusal, like he’s not used to being turned down, but not entirely deterred. “Oh, okay. Are you…here with someone?”

“She’s here with me, actually,” MJ cuts in, taking a step closer to Gwen. She grabs Gwen’s hand in her own, interlocking their fingers, and then folds her arm, pressing their hands together possessively against her chest. Gwen feels a rush of gratitude for her.

Johnny looks at their joined hands, raising his eyebrows. “Oh! Cool. My bad.” He flashes them a wink and another grin. “Party on, ladies.”

They watch him cruise back into the crowd, and then they look at each other, immediately bursting into laughter.

“Thank you for rescuing me,” Gwen says, when their giggles die down.

“No problem,” MJ says, grinning. “This is gonna be great story that you can tell at future parties, though. A crazy famous celebrity superhero just asked you out on a date.”

Gwen snorts. “Yeah, just when I thought my life couldn’t get any weirder.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean,” MJ says. She looks down at their still joined hands for a moment before smiling at Gwen again.

“Do you wanna dance, though?” she asks, almost shyly.

Gwen blinks. “With you?”

MJ smirks, but her eyes are soft. “Yeah, with me.”

Gwen can feel a hot blush across her cheeks again. “I seriously don’t dance, but…” She shrugs, laughing. “Yeah, okay. Sure, why not?”

“Awesome,” MJ says, shaking back her hair. “I don’t really dance either, so we’ll be perfect together.”

Gwen doesn’t believe there’s a single thing MJ can’t do well, but she appreciates her pretending she can’t for Gwen’s benefit.

But any awkwardness or embarrassment Gwen feels melts away as she moves to join the sea of dancing bodies, caught up in the thrill of being pressed so close to MJ.

They’re surrounded on all sides by other partygoers, but MJ’s eyes never leave Gwen’s face as she loops her arms around Gwen’s neck and they sway together. Gwen can feel her heart racing, pulsing in her ears and pounding in her chest in time to the thrumming, driving beat of the music. Gwen abandons herself to the feeling, her hands resting on MJ’s hips, laughing as MJ twirls her around and then pulls her closer, never wanting this moment to end.

But it does, of course.

There’s a shout over the music from the other side of the room, and then a wave of people push against Gwen and MJ as they scramble to move away from a commotion going on near the kitchen. Gwen stumbles over someone’s feet, and MJ grabs her hand again, steadying her before tugging her forward to the edge of the crowd.

Gwen’s eyebrows climb up her forehead as she takes in the scene before her. Peter and Johnny Storm are on the floor, grappling with each other and throwing sloppy, indiscriminate fists and elbows at each other’s heads.

“Oh my god—what’s going on? Why are they fighting?” Gwen asks, pushing her way over to Harry.

“I have no idea, but it’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. Who woulda thought sweet Pete could throw a fuckin’ punch like that. Look at our boy go, he’s a brawler,” Harry says fondly, pulling out his phone to record video. He cups his hand to his mouth and shouts encouragement at Peter. “Ya got him on the ropes, Pete!”

“Harry!” Gwen scolds, slapping the phone out of his hand.

“Dude, they’re gonna _kill_ each other,” Ned says, watching wide-eyed as Peter puts Johnny in a headlock, only to release him with an expletive a moment later when Johnny’s upper torso ignites in flames.

“They’re gonna kill all of us if they burn the fucking building down,” MJ adds tersely, clutching Gwen’s hand tighter.

“Alright, alright, relax. Yo, Javier—cut the music, man,” Harry shouts at the DJ, making a slashing motion across his throat as he pushes his way over to Peter and Johnny. He squirms in between them, making a shooing motion towards Johnny while Ned seizes Peter around the waist and tugs him backwards. “Party’s over. Break it up, boys.”

***

“I’m sorry I ruined the party,” Peter says a little while later, sitting sandwiched between Gwen and MJ in the back of the town car Harry called to take them home. A second shiner is developing around his other eye, and he sucks at a swollen lip. “That was stupid. I don’t even remember what we were fighting about.”

“I’m pretty sure Harry considers that the best party he’s ever thrown, so relax,” Gwen says, wetting the pad of her thumb with her tongue and rubbing at the crust of dried blood under Peter’s nose.

Peter leans away from her, looking miserable. “I punched my boss’ brother-in-law. I’m gonna get fired from my internship.”

“Yeah, well, whose fault is that?” MJ says dryly. But she takes Peter’s hand in hers, interlocking their fingers and squeezing his hand comfortingly.

Gwen stares at their joined hands, remembering the way MJ’s hand had felt in hers, warm and soft. A tightness seizes her throat. She turns her head away, looking out the car window and rapidly blinking away the tears that unexpectedly fill her eyes.

They reach MJ’s apartment building first. She leans forward to peer around Peter at Gwen as the car stops at the curb.

“Thanks for inviting me. I had a really good time,” she tells Gwen, sounding almost shy again.

Gwen swallows down her tears, making herself smile. “Yeah, me too.”

MJ offers her a close-lipped little smile in return as she undoes her seatbelt and opens the car door. “Well. Text me?”

“Yeah, sure,” Gwen says with manufactured brightness.

“Okay. See you. Bye, Pete,” MJ says, giving them a little wave as she gets out of the car.

“Bye,” Peter mumbles, still looking lost in his own misery. He lays his head against Gwen’s shoulder as the car starts driving again, heaving a sigh. “Can I stay with you tonight? I don’t wanna be alone.”

“Yeah, of course,” Gwen says, frowning in concern. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Peter replies unconvincingly, sighing again.

“Are you _sure_ you're okay?” Gwen asks him once they’re back at her apartment, stretched out in bed and listening to music. “You seem like you’re under a lot of stress lately. I mean, you’re like always super-stressed out, but it seems especially bad now. Getting into stupid drunken fist fights at parties and getting ridiculously high is very out-of-character for you. What’s the deal?”

Peter waves a hand. "It's nothing. I don't want you to get involved."

"Peter," Gwen says, gentle but firm. "You know you can talk to me about anything, right? Your secrets are safe with me. Just talk to me, please. I'm worried about you."

Peter takes a shaky breath, wetting his lips with his tongue and dragging a hand down his face. “It’s, uh…you remember that craziness with Dr. Connors?”

“Your professor? The one who disappeared?” Gwen asks, frowning. “Yeah.”

“Well…I found him. Here, in the city. Only…” Peter takes another shaky breath. “It’s not… _him_ anymore.”

“What do you mean?” Gwen asks, a growing sense of unease sweeping over her. “Peter, where did you find him?”

“In one of the basement levels of the Oscorp building. There’s…all kinds of fucked up shit happening down there, Gwen. Fucked up, dangerous, illegal shit, and Harry’s dad is running it,” Peter says, his eyes shining. “I don’t know what to do—I mean, I _know_ what I should do, but…I don’t want to do that to Harry.”

“Peter, what do you see down there?” Gwen asks, feeling chilled, but Peter shakes his head.

“I already told you too much. Just—forget about it, okay? I’ll figure it out later,” Peter says, sniffing. “It’s alright.”

“Peter—”

“It’s okay. Really,” Peter insists. “I’m just tired, is all. I don’t want you to worry about it. I got this.”

“Okay,” Gwen murmurs, smoothing his hair back from his face. She leans over him, gently kissing the bruise blossoming on his cheekbone—and then, on pure impulse, she kisses him again, on the mouth this time, so softly their lips barely touch.

She pulls back a little, looking down at him to see his reaction. Peter looks back at her, his eyes questioning, but he doesn’t pull away when she leans down and kisses him again, deeper this time. She runs the tip of her tongue across the seam of his mouth and his lips part for her, invitingly, even though he’s lying completely still like he’s otherwise frozen in place.

Gwen leans back again, trying to catch her breath. She thinks Peter looks pretty, even with the bruises around his eyes, like one of those shepherd boys in the paintings at the Met. 

She sits up, kneeling on the bed. She hikes her skirt up around her hips and throws a leg across Peter, settling in his lap.

Peter looks up at her with wide eyes, his expression somewhere between bemusement and alarm. “What are you doing?”

“What do you think?” Gwen replies dryly. She gives a little wiggle of her hips just to get her point across more clearly, watching the way his mouth drops open and his breath hitches. She thinks she can almost understand the appeal. 

“Oh god, is this a pity fuck?” Peter asks, his hands settling on her bare thighs, feather-light. His tone is jovial and self-deprecating, but she can hear the slight strain in his voice. “Is my life really this sad?”

Gwen rolls her eyes. “Yes, it’s a pity fuck. But not for you. It’s for me, okay? Please...”

Peter’s expression shifts, his eyes going soft.

“Gwen,” he says, tenderly, and she feels her bravado falter.

“I’ve never done this before,” she confesses, placing her hands carefully on his chest. She can feel his heart racing, thumping against the heel of her hand.

“Oh. That’s okay,” Peter replies gently. “We don’t have to, you know...”

“No, I want to,” Gwen says firmly. “I mean, if you want to, too. I...if I’m gonna do this, I want it to be with you. I trust you.”

Peter smiles at her, his hands leaving her thighs to cup her face instead. “Okay. But it’s not a pity fuck, then, alright? I’m like, seriously so flattered and humbled that you’d entrust this to me. You could do so much better.”

“Yeah, I probably could,” Gwen agrees, giving another little wiggle of her hips, just for the amusement that comes from watching him struggle.

“Jesus, Gwen…” he says breathlessly, his hands returning to her thighs and holding her tightly this time.

“Wow, is it really that easy?”

“Yeah, it’s that easy,” Peter says, closing his eyes and taking several deep breaths.

“Is that a guy thing, or a Spider-Man thing?”

“I’m pretty sure it’s just a guy thing.”

“I believe you,” Gwen says generously, smirking. “You’re always good about admitting to your personal shortcomings.”

“Can you _please_ maybe not mention the word ‘shortcomings’ right now? It’s gonna give me performance anxiety, and I really want this to be good for you.”

Gwen lets out a huff of laughter, rolling her eyes again. 

“You are such a dope,” she says, giving him an affectionate smile. “But thank you.”

“My pleasure,” Peter says with a wink, making Gwen roll her eyes again in fond exasperation.

“I love you, Gwen,” he says, more seriously. “You’re my best friend.”

Gwen gives a little nod, biting her lip as it suddenly starts to quiver. She looks down at Peter through a veil of tears blurring her vision.

“Are you in love with MJ?” she asks him brokenly, her voice small.

The question takes him aback, the smile sliding from his face as he blinks up at her. There’s a long silence. Finally, he lets out a little laugh.

“Can I give you some advice for the future?” he asks, a weak smile returning. “When you’re in bed with a guy, maybe don’t bring up another girl. It kinda kills the mood.”

Gwen laughs, too, a little teary sound. “Sorry. I’m sorry, I—”

She cuts herself off, looking down at her hands spread across his chest.

“I don’t like guys,” she says finally.

Peter snorts. “Hey, I don’t blame you. We can really suck.”

“No. I mean—I don’t wanna...be with a guy,” Gwen says quietly. “I don’t want to hold a guy’s hand, or kiss him, or...sleep with him. I don’t want to fall in love with a guy. Ever.”

“ _Oh,_ ” Peter says, understanding dawning on his face. He rolls sideways, gently tipping her over until she’s lying on the bed facing him. He tucks a strand of her hair behind her ear and then kisses her next to her nose, chastely, before offering her another smile.

“You wanna watch a movie?” he asks. “I know the passwords to every single streaming service Tony Stark subscribes to.”

Gwen smiles back, feeling a rush of gratitude and relief. “Does he know that?”

“I’m pretty sure I’ve completely destroyed his Netflix algorithm, so yeah, he probably does.”

Gwen laughs again, shaking her head. “I’ll never get over how weird your life is, Peter.”

They prop Gwen’s laptop up on a pillow between them and find a cheesy rom-com that Gwen can’t imagine Tony Stark ever wanting to watch. They’re about a third of the way through it when Peter suddenly pipes up again.

“You should tell her,” he says.

Gwen lifts her head to look at him, blinking in confusion. “What?”

“MJ. You should tell her how you feel,” Peter says earnestly. 

Gwen blinks at him again, biting the inside of her cheek as she hesitates. “That won’t bother you?”

Peter gives her a small smile, shrugging. “Hey, it is what it is. Me and MJ...I’ve never really had a lot of luck in the romance department. It always feels like there’s a third person in my relationships--and I’m not talking about some cute thrupple thing like Harry imagines. It’s really hard to be a good boyfriend and give yourself to your partner the way you should when you’re like, nearly dying on a regular basis. MJ deserves better than that. You can give it to her. So. Yeah--you should tell her. She likes you, too. I can tell.”

Gwen smiles back at him, feeling an ache in the center of her chest, a twist of love and grief combined. "You really think so?"

"Yeah, for sure. I see the way she looks at you. I mean, what's wrong with just telling her?"

“Okay…yeah. Maybe...I will tell her,” Gwen says softly. She kisses Peter's cheek again and then lays her head on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart, feeling light and full of hopeful, thrilling anticipation.


	4. Chapter 4

Gwen is a hopeless idiot. 

She survived the loss of her father and one of her brothers in the Blip and all the chaos that had followed half of the world’s population instantaneously vanishing. She graduated valedictorian at her high school and has maintained a 4.3 GPA at MIT. She flawlessly presented her design proposal for a next gen portable solar energy battery that had impressed the head of her internship program enough that he had shared it with Pepper-freaking-Potts herself.

And yet, Gwen is utterly, utterly incapable of doing the _very_ simple and straightforward task of asking MJ out on a date.

She’s had several opportunities to ask over the past couple of weeks. Since Harry’s party, she and MJ have been spending nearly every free moment they have together, sometimes with Ned and Peter and even Harry, who has finally--unsurprisingly--fallen under MJ’s charms, too, but very often it’s just the two of them alone together. They’ll be walking through the city, or going to a movie, or eating Chinese take-out in Gwen’s apartment, and a moment will come where Gwen’s heart will start to race and she will think, _this is it, ask her out_. But then her palms will start to sweat and her tongue will fuse itself to the roof of her mouth, and the moment will pass before she can work up the courage to get the words out.

“I don’t get it,” Ned says around a mouthful of pizza, enjoying a late lunch with Gwen. “What are you waiting for? Just ask her out.”

“Oh, wow, Ned, brilliant advice. Just ask her out--why didn’t I think of that?” Gwen says dryly, picking at her own uneaten pizza. “It’s not that easy, okay? I’ve never asked anyone out before.”

“I’ll give you fifty bucks to ask her out. Come on—you can do it.”

Gwen narrows her eyes at him. “Are you _bribing_ me right now? Why do you care so much?”

“I made a bet with Harry that you’d ask MJ out before next Friday,” Ned admits. “I’ve got two-hundred-bucks on the line. I don’t _have_ two-hundred-bucks, Gwendy, so I’m gonna need you to hurry up and sweep her off her feet.”

“Urghh!” Gwen groans through clenched teeth. “I’m so sick of you weirdos turning my love life into your own stupid entertainment, it’s so—”

She cuts herself off in the middle of her own rant, narrowing her eyes at Ned again. “Hold up...does that dumbfuck Harry think I don’t have the balls to ask her out?”

Ned grimaces, shrugging. “I mean…you haven’t proven him wrong…”

Gwen releases a sharp, exasperated huff of air as she snatches up her purse and slides out of the sticky booth she’s sitting in.

Ned looks at her from under raised eyebrows. “Hey, where are you going?”

“I’m gonna go do it,” Gwen says decisively, standing up and tugging her skirt down. “I’m gonna ask her to come over, and I’m gonna tell her how I feel.”

“Heck yeah!” Ned says, pumping a fist in the air. “The summer of Gwen! The summer of Gwen!”

Gwen rolls her eyes. “Okay, cowboy, settle down.”

“Seriously, though, go for it,” Ned says earnestly. “You guys are great together. She’s obviously into you, too. The unresolved sexual tension is kinda getting embarrassing at this point.”

“Okay, thank you, Ned,” Gwen says dryly. She slings her bag over her shoulder, taking a deep, steadying breath. “Okay. Okay—I’m gonna go do it. I’m gonna go straight home and text her and invite her to come over tonight, and then...I’m gonna ask her out. Wish me luck.”

“You don’t need luck,” Ned replies with far more confidence than Gwen feels. “You got this.”

Gwen nods, swallowing down the butterflies already trying to flutter up out of her stomach. 

“I got this.”

***

“What the _fuck_ were you thinking?” Gwen asks her reflection in the mirror hanging over her bathroom sink, her voice full of hopeless despair. 

She’s trying to run a mascara spool through her eyelashes but her hand is shaking from nerves, and she keeps leaving black smudges on her brow bone. Her bravado from earlier on at lunch with Ned has catastrophically failed in the hours following. She’d managed to follow through with her promise to text MJ to invite her over, but now, waiting for MJ’s imminent arrival, Gwen has been reduced to a jangled bundle of sweaty, anxious nerves. 

“Oh my god, fuck this,” Gwen moans as she smears more mascara on her eyelid. “Jesus, Gwendolyne, get it together, you idiot.”

She wets the pad of her finger with her tongue and tries to clean the mark off, but only makes a bigger mess instead as something heavy bangs into the glass door to the balcony, making her jump out of her skin.

“Fuck!” Gwen blurts out, her already racing heart pounding even harder. She hears the door sliding open and the sound of someone stumbling through it, and she sighs and shakes her head in impatient frustration.

“Go away, Peter!” she shouts over her shoulder, wiping her eyelid clean with a tissue. “I’m busy tonight and I’m not gonna babysit your stoned ass again—not tonight. This is the summer of _Gwen_ , okay? Go cry to Harry or Ned.”

There’s no answer. 

Gwen immediately feels a sense of overwhelming unease. She sets the mascara aside and turns around.

“Peter?” she calls as she walks into the bedroom. She stops dead at the sight that awaits her there, feeling like she’s suddenly been doused in icy cold water.

“Oh my god,” she breathes, pressing her hands to her mouth.

Peter is lying face down on the floor by her bed with one arm folded under his body, a red stain already soaking and spreading into the carpet underneath him. His Spider-Man suit is ripped to shreds, the fabric dark with more blood, the exposed flesh underneath similarly torn to ribbons.

“Oh my god,” Gwen says again, her voice breaking as she sinks down to squat on the floor, her legs suddenly gone weak and her head light and spinning. She crawls over to Peter, her breath coming in wet, shaky gasps as she reaches for him.

He’s completely limp and still as she tugs at him, struggling to roll his deadweight over, but he lets out a soft, pained mewl as Gwen finally manages to turn him over onto his back. Gwen feels a rush of relief at this tiny confirmation that her worst fears haven’t yet come true.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” she tells him, reaching to roll his mask up so she can see his face. She starts to cry as soon as she does, terrified by the bruises ringing his eyes and the blood that comes bubbling up out of his nose and mouth with every shallow, stilted breath he takes.

“Gwen…” Peter murmurs, turning his head towards her and peering up at her through swollen eyes. “Gwen…”

“It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay,” Gwen says, cupping his bruised, bloody face in her trembling hands. “It’s okay. I’m gonna help you, I’m gonna…”

She lets him go, scrambling over to the bedside table to grab her phone. She crawls back to him, holding the phone up in her shaking hands for him to see. “I’m gonna call for an ambulance, okay? I’m gonna get help.”

She swipes her thumb across the phone’s screen, but her hands are too slick with blood to unlock it.

“Fuck,” she whimpers, choking on a sob. She wipes the screen and her hand off on her pants and starts to try again, but Peter reaches up and grabs her wrist to stop her before she can.

“Listen to me, okay? I need you to listen to me,” he says, his voice surprisingly steady and firm. “You can’t call nine-one-one. The police will get involved—they’re in on it. You’re gonna leave and go to Ned’s place, and you’re gonna tell him to release the information. He’ll know what you mean. And then you’re gonna go to my aunt’s place, and you're gonna tell her to call Happy Hogan. He’ll take care of everything, and make sure you’re safe and kept out of it.”

Gwen shakes her head frantically, sobbing again.“No, no, no—I can’t leave you. I can’t…”

“You can. You can do it. It’s okay,” Peter says, squeezing her hand. “I just need to know you’re safe, and everything will be okay.”

Gwen sucks in a quavering breath. “Peter… _please._ ”

“It’s okay. Tell everyone I’m sorry,” Peter mumbles, his eyes sliding shut again and his grip on her hand going loose. “I’m sorry, Gwen.”

“Don’t say that,” Gwen pleads, tears spilling down her cheeks. “Don’t say that. Peter!”

She grabs his shoulders and gives him a rough little shake, feeling consumed with panic when he doesn’t respond. His face has taken on an awful grayish color that makes the red froth around his mouth stand out even more starkly.

“ _Peter!_ ” Gwen shouts at him again, her voice shrill and breaking. She sits back on her heels, taking a few deep gulps of air in an attempt to get her panic under control. She has no idea what to do, but she’s sure as hell not going to leave him here.

She wipes her phone’s screen off on her pants again, and this time she manages to unlock it. 

“Okay, okay, okay,” she breathes, her chest feeling tight, her heart thumping like a drum against her tense ribcage. She finds the contact she’s seeking and taps it, pressing the phone to her ear and saying a silent prayer as it rings.

MJ picks up on the third ring. “Hey, sorry, the station was packed. I’m nearly there now.”

“MJ--Peter’s hurt,” Gwen says in a rush, clutching the phone tight. “I don’t know what to do. Please, he’s bleeding really bad.”

There’s a beat of silence.

“Is he awake?” MJ asks. The steadiness of her voice is grounding.

“No, no, I mean—not really,” Gwen says, squeezing the phone between her cheek and her shoulder so that she can press down with both hands on the deep gash under Peter’s collarbone that seems to be bleeding the most profusely.

“Okay, listen, here’s what you’re gonna do,” MJ says. “Put his mask on. Say the name _Karen,_ and then when you hear the lady’s voice, tell her Peter needs help.”

“Okay, okay--don’t hang up, please don’t hang up,” Gwen pleads as she reaches for the mask.

“I won’t,” MJ promises, sounding out of breath now, like she’s running. “I’m coming, I’m almost there.”

Gwen sets the phone aside and reaches for Peter’s discarded mask. She pulls it over her head with shaking hands. The inside of the mask smells of blood, so strong she can almost taste the metallic tang of it on her tongue. Nausea roils her stomach, but she swallows it down.

“Karen?” she says in a small voice.

_“Hello, Gwen,”_ a kind, maternal voice answers. 

Gwen doesn’t stop to bother with wondering how the voice knows who she is.

“Peter needs help,” she says in a rush. “Please help. He’s hurt really bad.”

_“One moment,”_ the voice replies, reassuringly calm. A few beats pass, then, _“Assistance is on the way.”_

“Thank you, god, thank you,” Gwen breathes. 

She tugs the mask off and staggers up to her feet, stumbling over to unlock the apartment door before racing back to Peter. She kneels beside him once more, pressing her hands against that awful deep gash on his chest.

“Hold on, please hold on,” Gwen begs him, starting to cry again when he doesn’t answer.

A sudden sharp rap at the door startles her, then fills her with a rush of relief that at least she won’t be alone now.

“It’s open!” she calls.

The door flies open, and MJ rushes through. She stops dead, frozen save for the rapid rise and fall of her heaving chest, her eyes on Peter’s still, blood-soaked body.

“MJ, help me,” Gwen begs, and that shakes MJ loose. She hurries over, dropping down to her knees beside Gwen.

“Did you tell Karen he needs help?” MJ asks breathlessly, reaching out to press her fingers to the pulse point on Peter’s neck.

“Yeah—yeah, she said help was coming,” Gwen says, already feeling steadier now that MJ is there.

MJ nods, jumping to her feet. “I’m gonna grab a towel.”

She comes back with one from the bathroom, sliding it under Gwen’s hands where she holds Peter’s bleeding body together. Gwen takes slow, deep breaths, trying not to panic at how quickly blood soaks through the towel.

_Please, please, please,_ she silently begs to whatever omnipotent, benevolent powers who might be able to hear her plea for mercy.

It feels like an eternity before the promised help finally arrives. Gwen’s fingers and arms are starting to cramp from pressing down on Peter’s wound for so long when at last there’s another knock at the door.

MJ gets up to answer it. Gwen can hear her in conversation with a pair of men, but she doesn’t dare look away from Peter’s slack gray face, convinced that he’ll die the second she does.

She startles again when a man’s callused hand covers her own, finally causing her to look up. 

Tony Stark looks back at her.

Under different circumstances, coming face-to-face with one of her greatest science idols would have instantly been the most spectacular moment of her life, but right now Gwen feels only terror.

“Please help,” she says, her voice hoarse and shaking.

Tony Stark offers her a tight smile. “That’s what we’re here for. Can you keep pressure on that while we move him?”

Gwen nods numbly. 

Tony squeezes her hands briefly before motioning to the other man hovering nearby. “Alright, Happy—you know the drill. Grab his shoulders and I’ll get the legs. You keep your hands right where they are, Miss Stacy.”

Gwen nods again, shuffling up on her knees as Tony grabs Peter’s legs and Happy scoops Peter up under his arms.

Tony nods to them both. “Ready? One, two, three.”

They all stand up, staggering a little under the deadweight of Peter’s limp, unconscious body. They shuffle slowly across the apartment while MJ rushes ahead to get the door, and then down the hallway to the elevator. The whole process feels like it takes a thousand years to Gwen, but then suddenly they’re outside in the parking lot behind the building, carrying Peter towards a car waiting at the curb.

MJ runs forward again to get the door, and Gwen has no choice at that point but to let Peter go as Tony and Happy struggle to haul him across the backseat. She stands there on the curb, feeling very small and cold despite the muggy summer night. MJ comes to stand beside her, wrapping an arm around Gwen’s shoulders, and Gwen leans into her.

“Okay, ladies,” Tony says, wiping sweat from his brow on his shoulder once they finally have Peter situated in the car. “Good work. I promise I’ll call you when we get settled upstate.”

“We’re coming, too,” MJ says firmly, her jaw set and her eyes hard and cool as she stares across at Tony, and if Gwen hadn’t already been head-over-heels in love with her then she certainly would be now.

Tony exchanges a look with Happy, and then shrugs. “You heard the boss lady. Everybody pile in. Let’s go.”

Gwen feels a rush of relief that almost overcomes the terror still making her heart flutter like a panicked bird. She grabs MJ hand and tugs her forward, climbing into the backseat with Peter. Gwen crams herself into the seat next to his head, brushing the damp hair out of his face, feeling tears well up in her eyes again.

MJ reaches over and squeezes her hand. Gwen looks up at her, blinking away the tears blurring her vision. MJ’s eyes are shining with tears, too. She leans over until she can press her cheek to Gwen’s.

“Whatever happens, we’re together,” she murmurs in Gwen’s ear, squeezing her hand again.

Gwen takes a shaky breath, nodding as she interlaces her fingers with MJ’s, her fear quieted for a moment under the current of love and gratitude she feels for her.

***

Gwen had been too young to remember her mother’s illness and her death. She has vague memories of the funeral service at the church, with its somber organ dirges and the scent of melting candle wax. She can recall the slow procession to the cemetery a little better. It had been snowing heavily, and the hearse had gotten stuck. Her father had gotten out of the car to help push it through the snowfall. At the graveside, snow had gotten inside Gwen’s little black Mary Janes and soaked her socks. She can remember crying, not because her mother was dead but because of the cold, wet socks freezing her toes, and her father kneeling to take off her shoes and warm her bare feet in his big hands.

Gwen had been at school when her father and brother had Blipped. All she remembers of that event is the chaos and confusion that had followed and the thin coating of dust that had been spread across the desks in her classroom. She remembers how eerie and empty the streets had been in the following months, the way the whole world seemed to descend into a quiet so profound it had felt like a physical thing, like being submerged in water.

Gwen has known Peter long enough now to understand that the Spider-Man thing is very, very dangerous. She’s seen his black eyes and bruised ribs, she’s watched him dig a bullet out of his thigh with her tweezers, the two of them crying and gagging together on his dorm room floor, making awful morbid jokes to get through it. She’s walked alone across campus in the dead of winter in the middle of the night, bundled up in her coat and clutching pepper spray in her fist, all because Peter’s sent her a text asking for her help, and every time she’d wondered if she’d find him dead on the floor by the time she got to him, and every time he’d been fine--bruised and banged up, bloodied and exhausted, but alive, offering her a crooked, sheepish smile and more dumb jokes.

This time feels different.

“Are you okay?” MJ asks quietly.

They’re sitting side-by-side in an empty hallway in the medical wing of the new Avengers’ facility, waiting for any news about Peter. 

“No,” Gwen replies, her voice quavering. “That was so fucked up. If you hadn’t come...if you hadn’t already been on your way over...”

She breaks off, letting out a little shuddering sob. MJ grabs her hand, squeezing it. 

Gwen takes a deep breath, squeezing MJ’s hand back and looking over at her. “Are you okay?”

“No,” MJ says, sniffing. She offers Gwen the tiniest smile, her eyes shining. “I’m really glad you’re here with me.”

Gwen squeezes her hand again. “Me too.”

They go quiet again, gripping each other’s hands like a lifeline while the hours pass interminably, the tension nearly palpable. Every now and then a dark-suited employee with a badge around their neck will power-walk past them, the facility still busy despite the fact that it’s well-past midnight now, but aside from a few sideways glances, Gwen and MJ are ignored. 

“I can’t take this anymore,” MJ suddenly says, getting to her feet. “Come on—let’s see if we can find a doctor or a nurse or somebody who can tell us something about Peter.”

Gwen doesn’t need any more convincing—she’s up in an instant, trotting down the hall alongside MJ. They poke their heads into rooms as they wander, looking for anyone who can give them some answers. 

They can’t find any nurses but they do run into another dark-suited employee—or rather, she runs into them, spotting them from down the hallway and marching swiftly towards them.

“Civilians are not allowed in this sector unaccompanied,” she tells them, taking them both by an elbow and trying to turn them around.

“We’re just trying to find out if our friend is okay,” MJ says. “Tony Stark brought him here.”

The woman doesn’t look convinced, her skeptical gaze flitting between MJ and Gwen and her mouth pressed into a thin, unyielding line. 

“I’m going to have to ask you to depart these premises,” she says firmly.

“No,” Gwen blurts out, yanking her arm free. “Please—we just want to make sure our friend is okay.”

But the woman shakes her head. “I’m sorry, but unless you have the appropriate authorization, you’ll have to leave.”

“Those are mine! They belong to me,” a voice calls from down the hall.

Tony is coming towards them at a kind of hop-a-long jog. He sidles up to them, a little out of breath, and makes a shooing motion at the woman.

“At ease, agent. Thank you very much, skedaddle. Those are my girls,” he says, putting one arm around Gwen’s shoulders and the other around MJ’s and hugging them both while the woman reluctantly continues on her way.

“Brave, fierce girls,” Tony murmurs, squeezing them tightly once before releasing them. He looks at them for a long moment, before clearing his throat.

“Alright, so--Pete’s nearly out of surgery,” he tells them. “And he’s gonna be fine.”

Gwen and MJ exchanged looks of relief. 

“Can we see him?” MJ asks.

“Not yet. The docs still gotta get him all stitched back together again,” Tony says, putting a hand on each of their shoulders and guiding them down the hall. “I'll drive you home tomorrow morning. We’ll come back in a couple days and you kids can have your tearful reunion then.”

Gwen frowns. “Where are we going now?”

“Home,” Tony says simply, squeezing their shoulders and giving them a reassuring smile.

***

“You girls hungry?” Tony asks, rifling through cabinets. “You want a glass of bourbon?”

They’re standing in the kitchen of his lakeside abode, a cabin that is somehow both predictably high-tech and a lot homier and simple than Gwen ever would have thought a residence owned by Tony Stark would be. There are dirty dishes left in the sink and a pile of stuffed animals and coloring books sitting on the table, adding to the odd, unexpected normalcy of the whole situation, wildly juxtaposed by the fact that Tony-freaking-Stark is standing a few feet away offering them a glass of bourbon. Gwen feels a little like she’s dreaming.

“Tony,” Pepper gently admonishes, before gathering Gwen and MJ close and herding them towards the stairs. “How about showers and clean clothes, first. Then maybe blueberry waffles. How does that sound?”

“Mimosas?” Tony calls after them. “They’ve had a rough night, Pep.”

“And mimosas,” Pepper agrees in a long-suffering tone, while giving MJ and Gwen a smile and taking them upstairs.

“I want Pepper Potts to adopt me. I want her to be my mom,” MJ declares later, curled up in bed with Gwen in one of the guest bedrooms, the two of them a little tipsy from all the mimosas they drank over the last hour.

“Oh my god, me too,” Gwen replies. She’s wearing a t-shirt and pajama bottoms lent to her by Pepper—the PJs have little cutesy hearts printed on them, which doesn’t seem at all like something the CEO of a multi-billion-dollar tech company would wear, and it adds to the strange, surreal feeling of this whole situation.

Gwen pinches the fabric between her fingers, then pinches her flesh underneath, harder, just to bring herself back to reality. The achingly fresh memory of the crushing terror of the night comes rushing back, brutally sobering.

MJ seems to sense it. She snuggles in closer to Gwen, throwing an arm over her waist.

“How do you do it?” Gwen asks her quietly. “When he gets hurt like that...how do you—” 

She cuts herself off, choked by a sudden tightness in her throat. Her vision blurs with tears.

MJ shifts on the bed, propping herself up on her elbow, her expression serious.

“So this is, like… _super_ fucked up and morbid and you’re gonna hate it,” she replies, “but I just tell myself that one day...it’s gonna happen. I’m gonna be like, scrolling through Instagram, or get a news alert, or...or maybe if I’m lucky someone will call me first...but one day he’s just… _not_ gonna come home. And I know this sounds weird, but it helps me. It’s like...someone you love tells you they have a terminal illness or something, and they don’t know when it’s gonna finally get them, maybe weeks or months or years, but it’s gonna kill them eventually. So you just prepare yourself for that, and you enjoy the time you have with them. That’s all you can do.”

Gwen nods, letting out a teary little laugh. “You’re right. I fucking hate that. It’s smart, but I hate it.”

MJ smiles, her eyes glossy. She lies back down and snuggles close again.

“Let’s run away, then,” she murmurs, rubbing their noses together.

Gwen smiles through her tears. “Where would we go? What would we do?”

“We could start a band,” MJ suggests. “Peter told me you play the drums.”

“Yeah, in high school band,” Gwen laughs. “And I was terrible at it.”

MJ shrugs. “So? We’ll figure it out. Wing it.”

Gwen raises an eyebrow. “Wing it? I thought you had a plan for everything.”

MJ shrugs again. “Sometimes I like to improvise.”

Gwen huffs out another soft laugh, before her expression becomes serious. She wets her lips, swallowing.

“I had a plan...for last night,” she tells MJ shyly. “For, um...for when you came over. I was gonna tell you something, but then…”

She waves hand, giving MJ a tight smile. “I always have the worst timing. I guess I’ll have to wait to tell you later.”

MJ shifts even closer, running the tips of her fingers down Gwen’s cheek.

“If the timing wasn’t bad...what were you gonna say?” she asks, looking into Gwen’s eyes.

Gwen wets her lips again, her heart suddenly pounding in her chest.

“I was gonna tell you...that I want to kiss you,” she says quietly. “That I want to hold your hand. That I want...to fall in love with you.”

MJ smiles, her eyes soft as she cups Gwen’s face in her hands. “So what are you waiting for?”

Gwen smiles back, feeling a flush of warmth rush through her whole body. She leans closer, touching her lips to MJ’s, a kiss that is soft and sweet and perfect.

***

Peter’s awake when Gwen finally gets to see him a few days later, lying propped up in bed in a bright room. He’s still pale and his eyes are ringed with awful bruises, but he gives her a sheepish, pained grin as she walks into the room.

“Okay, so—Gwendy, I’m really, really sorry,” he tells her by way of greeting. 

“You should be,” Gwen replies, perching on the edge of his bed and frowning down at him. “You scared me so bad, you dope.”

Peter’s grin turns into a grimace. “I know. I know—I feel terrible.”

“Good,” Gwen says, sniffing as she crosses her arms over her chest. “You should feel terrible. I had a whole romantic evening planned, and you ruined it.”

Peter winces. “I know. Ned told me. I’m _so_ sorry, but really it’s kinda _your_ fault.”

Gwen’s eyebrows jump up towards her hairline. “ _Excuse me?_ ”

“Yeah, well—I _had_ to go to your place for help, right? I mean, you’re the responsible one. Can you imagine what woulda happened if I’d showed up like that at Ned or Harry’s place? I’d be dead right now.”

“Oh my _god,_ ,” Gwen says, rolling her eyes. “You are such a dirtbag.”

“I know,” Peter says contritely.

“I love you, anyway,” Gwen grudgingly adds.

“I know,” Peter says, smiling. “I love you, too. And I’m gonna make this up to you, I promise. Tony's gonna pay for round-trip plane tickets and a fancy ass hotel suite for two weeks for you in Santa Monica.”

Gwen’s eyes go wide. “What the hell? Why?”

“I told him it was your lifelong dream to visit the Jet Propulsion Laboratory in Pasadena.”

Gwen raises an eyebrow, frowning. “It’s not though?”

Peter waves a dismissive hand. “That’s not important. This isn’t about the JPL—it’s about the summer of Gwen. I got you a trip for _two_. So, you know...you can take MJ on like, a romantic getaway and tell her how you feel.”

“Oh my god,” Gwen groans again, pressing her hand to her forehead. “How much money did you bet, you dweeb?”

Peter’s expression goes sheepish and apologetic again. “Uh...a couple hundred. It’s my entire savings account, so Gwen, I _need_ you to take MJ on this trip and tell her how you feel, or I’m _fucked_.”

Gwen rolls her eyes. “Relax. I did it. It’s done.”

Peter blinks at her. “You did?”

“Yep. The night you showed up dying at my apartment. Not as romantic as a trip to Santa Monica, but it worked out. It went really great, actually.” Gwen smiles at him. “Honestly...I guess I kinda need to thank you for being such a complete catastrophe of a human. If you hadn’t shown up half-dead...I think I would have lost the nerve to do it. But you just never know what could happen, right? So you were right, for once—I shouldn’t wait.”

Peter smiles back at her. “I occasionally know what I’m talking about, yeah. That’s awesome. The summer of Gwen was a success. But it could get even better,” he adds, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. “I was looking at pics of that hotel suite in Santa Monica...real swanky. Real _romantic._ Only one bed…”

Gwen snorts, rolling her eyes again.

“I shoulda let you die on my floor,” she says, leaning over to kiss his cheek before standing up. “But thanks, I guess. I gotta run now. MJ and I have a dinner date. I’ll see you later, Pete.”

“Bye, Gwendy. I’ll email the trip info to you,” Peter says, grinning as he waves to her while she walks out. “Have fun!”

Gwen flips him the bird on her way out the door, smiling and shaking her head.

She finds MJ at the vending machine down the hallway, buying a couple of sodas. MJ looks up as Gwen approaches, holding out a bottle to her, her smile bright and warm.

“Thanks,” Gwen says, kissing MJ’s cheek as she takes the bottle. “Hey—you wanna go to California for a couple of weeks with me on Tony Stark’s dime?”

“Hell yeah, I do,” MJ replies with a grin, slipping her hand into Gwen's and interlacing their fingers.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! You can also find me on tumblr as [groo-ock](https://groo-ock.tumblr.com)


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